Misstep
by zevie
Summary: Set prenovel. Darry has a difficult day. Written in response to the WSotTA challenge. Rated for language. Oneshot.


Misstep

A/N: Set pre-novel. Had a lot of trouble with this voice...any comments would be mucho appreciated! Be brutal, please. ;)

This was written for the Wrong Side of the Tracks forum challenge. It's a great forum for discussing all things related to Outsiders fanfiction - there's a link up on my profile.

xxxx

It was not yet nine in the morning when the crew went to work.

I was up, of course, I had been for hours. The kids had to be sent off to school and Howard to work, and I had the annual summer social for the Women's Horticultural Society of Tulsa (of which I am chair) to plan. I never laze in bed, even on Saturdays - Lucy likes to do the sheets first thing.

The most unfortunate thing about having to repair one's roof is that no matter how large your home might be, when the construction starts there is not a single quiet spot to be found. I decided to retreat to the garden with a glass of iced tea and my novel. I thought that maybe in the outside air the sounds would dissipate and leave me with at least the semblance of peace. I was wrong.

"Oy, you got any more a those one and a quarter inchers?"

"Hell, no! We used 'em up on the Richardson's last week. Fuckin' Hastings told me he'd send us a new order by last monday."

"Lyin' sonovabitch."

It is difficult to enjoy the subtleties of a Jane Austen romance under such conditions. I thought about pleading my female sensibilities, but they were rough types, and even the most civil of men do not take kindly to a woman interfering with their work.

"Ma'am, not to bother you, but you might be wantin' to hightail it to somewhere more quieter. It'll get awful loud and dusty here."

At first glance, the man appeared to be somewhat older than I. His face was lined, tanned and burnt in places from the sun, but his eyes were warm and kind. He must have been only forty.

"Of course." I rose as gracefully as I could and turned to move deeper into the grounds.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

For a moment it sounded like the man was addressing me, but a quick glance around and it was obvious who he was yelling at. Not ten feet away, a young boy was holding up two bundles of tiles. He dropped one quickly, looking guilty.

"For Christ's sake, you wanna snap your back in two? Be careful with that roofing, son, you drop one of those bundles from the top of a ladder that'll come straight outta your paycheck - and your muscles won't thank you none."

The boy started to say something, but it dissolved quickly into a coughing fit. The older man - he must have been the foreman - moved forward quickly, his lined face creased more deeply with concern. "You sick, boy?"

The boy waved his hand carelessly but continued to cough. Even from where I stood, I could see his cheeks were flushed and beaded with sweat from sickness.

"You oughtta head on home, son."

"Can't," the boy gasped. "I barely got enough for rent if we wanna eat this month, an' it looks like Pony's gonna need a doctor. Can't seem to get through a night without having one of them dreams."

The man let his breath out slowly. "Look, son, I knew your daddy and he was a hell of a worker. But, he wouldn't a worked a day being sick like this. You do that and it'll get bad enough to take you out for a week. This here is dangerous work son. I ain't itchin' to see you take a tumble."

"You gotta let me work," the boy said. "Look, I'm okay. It's just a cold."

The man looked skeptical, but said: "Alright. But, you be careful."

The boy nodded and hoisted the roofing up in his arms.

The foreman turned away, and caught my eye. "Kids," he said grinning. "Think they're super-human most of 'em. These young'uns got plenty of energy, but it's the old codgers like me that know how to get things done proper."

I laughed. "Believe me, I know. My kids always think they know better than I do. Goodness, it's difficult to teach them proper manners. When I was their age..."

"You ain't kidding. I got a couple of 'em, thirteen and eleven and I ain't lookin' forward to teenagers. Used to be we all worked hard through that age to help out the family."

"Now it's tough enough to get them to dry the dishes," I laughed.

He joined in. "Ain't that the truth." He watched the boy shimmy down the ladder and grab another bundle. "That Darrel though, he's one of the good 'uns."

I nodded in agreement.

"Guess I better get back to work," the foreman said reluctantly.

"When y'all are finished, come and grab some iced-tea in the kitchen," I said.

He brightened. "Why, that'd be just fine, Ma'am. Thank you." He gave me a jaunty wave, and jogged back to his crew.

I read for a bit, then gave up and watched them work. The sick boy was by far the youngest on the crew - he reminded me of my son Thomas. He was leaner than Tom, though, skinny even, though clearly from his muscles he was used to hard work. It was Friday; I wondered why he wasn't in school.

It was two o'clock before they began to look close to finished. I hurried into the house to find Lucy to bring out the tea.

"Lucy, we have another pitcher here somewhere, don't we? The workers will be done soon, and I invited them in for some iced-tea."

Lucy chuckled. "Ain't that just like you, with your good Tulsa manners. You bring this all outside, though, instead of in here." She wrinkled her nose. "A bunch a rough men in a house with a lady all by her lonesome? It ain't right."

I frowned. She was right. It wouldn't do to bring them into the house.

We'd just stacked the cups and tea on a platter when we heard a dull thud and the mens' shouts.

We hurried outside to see what went wrong. Lying in the grass was what looked like a large bundle of roofing, scattered from the fall.

"Fuck!" The foreman clattered down the ladder as fast as he could, a look of panic in his eyes.

"Don't worry," I said kindly. "I'll pay for the roofing."

He looked at me fiercely. "That ain't no roofing, ma'am," he said roughly and jogged towards the bundle. Lying in the grass under a few scattered shingles was the sick boy.

"Shit! Darry... Darrel you alright?"

The boy's eyes and mouth were open and moving - he was alive at least.

"Is he okay?" I asked.

The foreman looked at me again, with annoyance. "Don't know." He pulled the roofing off of the boy.

"Bring him inside," I urged. "He can rest up on the couch."

The foreman looked skeptical. "He ain't clean."

I turned towards the house; there were at least five doctors in the neighborhood I could call.

Lucy had beat me to it by the time I got to the kitchen. "Dr. Carmichael from down the street was home, he be here in ten minutes, he says."

The foreman appeared at the door, carrying the boy, scuffling his boots on the ground. Lucy's eyes widened and she frowned at me.

"In here," I said firmly, swallowing my hesitation. Lady or not, there couldn't be a mother alive who wouldn't give up her couch to a boy just fallen off her roof.

He placed him down gingerly on the white couch. "I think he's just winded," he said quietly. He looked uncomfortable in the grandeur of the salon.

Lucy brought in a tray with a glass of water and a wet towel. The boy's eyes were closed, but they opened when I placed the towel across his brow. They were bright with fever.

"Mom?" he mumbled.

"Easy," the foreman said. "You just fell two stories, son."

I stood up. "I'll call your momma, honey, if you give me her number."

He shook his head and tried to sit up but fell back groaning against the couch. "Can you call my brother?" he whispered.

"Sure, son." The foreman motioned me out of the room into the kitchen.

"We ought to call his parents. He might need a hospital."

He gave me a long look. "His folks are dead. Been just three months."

I sat down quickly at the table. "Oh..."

He shrugged. "Darry's managing. I got his brother's number in my truck, I'll go get it."

When I re-entered the salon, Lucy had brought in Dr. Carmichael. He was examining the boy.

"Couple of cracked ribs, and you'll have some painful bruises tomorrow," the doctor was saying. "You've got a bad fever as well, but there shouldn't be anything more serious."

The boy heaved a sigh. "Good," he grunted.

"What were you doing, when you fell, anyway?"

"Tryin' to clear up the leftover roofing."

"And carrying more than one load at a time?" I teased.

The boy glanced at me, and reddened. "It makes the job go quicker," he explained. "The sooner we finish this one, the sooner we can move onto the next one. We can take more jobs that way."

"Alright, well, I'm through here," Dr. Carmichael said, standing up. "Since it was just a quick examination, I won't charge you much."

"What?" The boy's eyes widened. "You gonna charge me?"

"Well, it is my profession," Dr. Carmichael said dryly. "If I gave everyone free examinations, I'd never be able to make a living, now would I?"

The boy's mouth opened and closed quickly. He swallowed. "I - I ain't got more 'n seventeen dollars."

The doctor raised his eyebrows. "Well, I was going to charge twenty, but if that's all you've got..."

"Now Frank," I said smoothly, "we'll pay. It was our roof after all."

"I don't need your charity," the boy said quickly. I looked at him and he blushed again. "I mean, I can take care of it myself."

I shook my head. "This is strictly legal business. Insurance."

The boy hesitated. "Well, if it ain't charity," he said finally.

"It's not," I said firmly. "Frank, send us a bill, and thank you for coming. Lucy, get my purse."

We sat in awkward silence, the boy and I, for a few minutes.

I cleared my throat. "It's a school day isn't it? Why aren't you in school?"

He gave me a startled look. "I'm twenty. Turned it four months ago. I ain't no kid, I'm a gr- an adult. I gotta work to live just like anyone else."

I nodded sadly. "Of course, you do."

"It ain't nothing different than usual," he said. "Ask anyone my age."

"Of course."

"Really. I was planning on getting a job with the company this summer anyway. My dad..." He paused. "He used to work roofs too until he died."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He brushed impatiently at his hair. "Lotta guys my age don't got parents. Like I said, it ain't nothin' unusual."

"I believe you."

"I gotta go," the boy said stiffly. He stood up quickly, wincing at the dirt left on the white couch.

I followed him outside where an old Ford pickup was just pulling up.

"Darry! Whatcha do?" A younger boy with golden hair leapt from the car almost before it stopped.

"Fell. Two-stories." The foreman was tossing the last few tools into his truck.

The gold-haired boy grinned. "Only two? That all you call me for? I was at work, man."

Work? This one couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen I was sure. I wasn't about to let Thomas work until he was through school with good grades.

"Sorry, I shouldn't a called you," Darrel said making his way towards the Ford.

The blond looked closely at Darrel. "Well, you look alive, at least, that's something."

Lucy nudged me in the back and handed me my purse. I hurried to the foreman. "Thank you for your work," I said, handing him an envelope with the tip. I hoped some of it got to that boy. "Sorry about the iced-tea."

"Some other time, maybe," he said. "Thanks for the use a your couch." He hopped into his truck.

Behind me, I heard a shout and saw Darrel leaning against the Ford. "What's Pony doing in the truck?"

"Aw, shoot, he wanted to drive and I thought it'd be good training-"

"He's fourteen!"

"You were driving then, don't play the saint."

"I was driving in the country where there ain't no other cars to hit. Don't you two ever think?"

"Hey, calm down, man. Look, Pony didn't get much sleep and he had a couple of tests this morning. He was having a rough day, and hell, so was I. I thought it would cheer him up."

Darrel started coughing and didn't answer. I looked at the dirt and sweat streaking his arms and his flushed, feverish face. He wrapped an arm around his cracked ribs as he coughed.

I wondered if they'd ever find out what kind of day he'd had.

The End.


End file.
